Thursday, 23 July 2020

They sent Sam in in his full emotional armour and then hid behind the fucking door.

Your drinking-

No, I'm not. Okay, well right now I'm not. (Last night I found another bottle of wine and watched Rocketman alone, at the top of my lungs. And cried. And laughed. And swore whenever they approached to tell me to go to bed.)

I mean, we need to discuss the drinking. 

What about it? 

I think it's probably contributing to your anxiety right now. 

I think it's the only think helping me right now, personally. Better to be drunk most of the time and not give a shit then be on edge twenty-six hours a day. 


What are you on edge about, Bridget? Sam looks so kind. Fuck Marry Kill? All of the above, please. I always have a hard-on for kind people who sit and listen while I spool into a frenzy.

What am I NOT on edge about? Everything, Sam. You know this. 

How do we fix this? How can we make things easier?

Let me get drunk. Perfect girl. Problem solved. 

I drank to deal with my problems once too, Bridget. Don't be flip. 

There's a reason all us deep-feelers are raging alcholics, you know. Deep people feel things more strongly. It's harder to keep out the bad. It all just pours in through the cracks and we get overwhelmed. I wish I could stop but it's better this way. 


There are ways to stop. I stopped. 

I just need a new hobby, like you all. Maybe like fucking my landlady!

Bridget-

Sam, saying 'stop worrying' doesn't work. This isn't normal, this is fear. Tied to everything going wrong. 

I know your diagnoses, Bridge. This is worse than usual. 

I have a 'usual'? 

Yes. This is at least fifty percent more. 

Ah. The value-pack Bridget. 

He laughs. My Lord. At least you can laugh. 

Only on the outside. 

What can I do to help?

Just pick up any pieces you find after I implode and put them up on a shelf for safekeeping.

Bridget. We worked so hard on mechanisms and behavioural shifts-

She isn't interested in being comforted or pacified. 

She is you. Stop it. 

Right. She's ten years old and has no power and is scared and sometimes I can't help her! 

But you can. You just won't. 

I can't believe you all sit there so high and mighty telling me not to do the one thing you all did to cope as if there's some magical thought process that I can go through to feel better when none of you could do it. 

We all do it now. We all did the work. I would save you the pain of having to hit bottom before you do the work. 


Exactly how high up am I then? 

Not bottom. 

You don't think?

No, I don't. 

Okay, that's a good start. 

Tell her it's going to be okay. 

I'm the only person that doesn't lie to her, Sam, and I'm not about to change that now. 

Wednesday, 22 July 2020

Let your light be mine (literally).

Blessed are the weird people – poets, misfits, writers, mystics, heretics, painters, troubadours – for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.
                                                                                             ~
Jacob Nordby
Don't worry, Daniel was there too.

And Ben.

What?


I might still be drunk but you're fucking uptight. Why are you reading this if you're shocked? Go read some regular thing then. I really don't care either way but it's on the left-hand side of every page and if you want to follow a freak....then expect them to be freaks, you know what I mean?

***

Ben and Schuyler actually took mild offence to the day-drunk part of the day but once we finished the current bottle we didn't open any more. So between Lochlan and I that's two bottles for two super lightweights and I am definitely still drunk, just no longer disorderly.

Okay, maybe a little.

What's on today, little muffin? Duncan is in fine form this morning as I approach warily, like a rabbit near a lion. My head aches just enough but I don't care, which is my cue that tells me one more drink this morning and I might be right back where I started.

I pour coffee instead. Probably avoiding my Diabhal, I admit.

He on the warpath?

We were with Danny and Schuy yesterday..

Oh. 

Yeah. 

***

Caleb finds me easily. Not like I was hiding. Coffee and (yes, more) champagne in the library with music blasting out through the doors. My motivational playlist that I play when I need a little boost or a good hard shove all the same. PJ is within two rooms cringing so hard at me, as always.

Wonderful Feeling (SWITCHFOOT, NATURALLY YOU SHOULD LISTEN TOO) is blaring from the speakers and he pokes his head in, making me jump a thousand feet. He waves and waits until I dig out my phone from a deep pocket (dresses. with. pockets.) to pause my song.

Bridget. 

Listen. I-

Hey. You're coming out swinging and all I said was your name. It's a greeting. 

Hi. 

Hey. How are you doing?

Hungover. 

You'd never know it with this music blasting. 

Huh? Oh, that's default. 

He nods. Want to go get a greasy breakfast? We can pick it up and bring it back and eat it on the wall. 

I stare at him. Why-

If you don't feel well, I can help fix it. 

But you usually-

I told you I was trying. Taking my cues from Lochlan who is a whole lot more free than I will ever be.

He really doesn't have his possessive tendencies developed enough for them to stick ever. 

No, he does not. Caleb laughs kindly. I'm trying to see that this is okay. 

Is it?

Are you happy?


Depends. 


On my reaction? You clearly don't live by what I endorse, Neamhchiontach. But you are afraid after that fact. Insolent to a fault. As always.

Always and forever, Diabhal. 

So breakfast or not? 

Can I continue my music in the car?

Again, as always. 

Thank you. I'll go get ready. 

He looks so pleased. This is weird. He'll either throw me off the wrong side of the cliff after breakfast or he has already pregamed and poisoned my food. I can pretend I trust him but no way in this hell do I actually trust him one bit.

Tuesday, 21 July 2020

You know what I love? That Lochlan and Schuyler have somehow managed to figure out how to compartmentalize their work relationship so that it doesn't make their personal relationship weird. Or maybe it does and I don't know because I don't go and work with them. Either way, we spent all of this afternoon in Schuyler and Daniel's cavernous bed in their cavernous room watching their giant television. With no clothes, champagne and air conditioning. We watched the entire first season of Indian Matchmaking on Netflix and hate-loved it. But sometimes no one watched the television and that was fun too.

What?

I have already navigated a month's worth of Mondays in less in thirty-six hours and I have earned a bottle of champagne on an empty stomach and a good old-fashioned round of pass the Bridget so I'm extremely drunk, extremely overtouched and have nothing of consequence to write about, save for an admiration that Loch and Schuy are like brothers one moment and lovers the next.

Except Lochlan always says it's not like that even though I'm RIGHT THERE. I told you he was the most affectionate person in my entire world. I wasn't wrong. I did good.

Monday, 20 July 2020

All hail the tiny bacon queen.

It's Monday. A fresh start. A new week. I've pulled down the remainder of the birthday ribbons, leaving them on the kitchen floor for the cats to play with. I'm excited to get my appointments over with so I can come home and settle in in a cool spot with a cold terribly alcoholic drink now that Henry's shift for tonight has been cancelled and I'll make a cold dinner at six. Maybe I'll finish my book. I'm already way ahead on chores thanks to two appointments in one day (no it's not anything salacious, just a trip to the vet for one pet and then a trip to the dealership for a followup on a vehicle) and that's a good thing.

(I love car shopping. I mean, secretly I do but outwardly no way.)

It's supposed to be the hottest day of the year today, too.

I head back to the kitchen to put my coffee cup in the dishwasher and Gage is sitting at the island. I pause just long enough for him to catch me hesitating before I head straight for the sink. Dammit.

Hey, he says. Casual. Like always.

Morning. You sleep?

He nods. You?

Never, I frown and then smile. No big deal.

Aw. Eventually, I hope.

Me too.

Hey, Bridge?

Yes?

Let's not be weird.

Trying my best.

Look. I've got this plate of bacon and it would be a shame if you didn't steal it.

Oh my God, I didn't even see that!

Right? Come share it with me. He pulls a stool over beside his with a grateful smile as if the sun rises and sets by my happiness-

Oh, wait, that's right.

It does.

***

Also, does anyone else see that A Perfect Circle's The Outsider is a good companion to Evans Blue's The Promises and the Threat?

God. It's the perfect blend, one seamlessly into another.

Your music taste is a force to be reckoned with. Ben's always been in awe of how precisely I weigh what goes into my ears.

Has to be, I say hastily. Blame Lochlan. Gotta go already. It's getting late.


Sunday, 19 July 2020

Sunday boys.

Maybe sunlight burns off the last of the spent rocket fuel, the rainbow puddles drying to purple and green streaks on the concrete, a circle charred into the centre where I took off and landed again, easily. I'm good at this.

(Of course I Still Love You is the name of the floating remote barge that Space X rockets always land on. No, Caleb is not Elon Musk, but people ask me that Every. Single. Day. Caleb is his real name and he can afford a lot of privacy so I don't worry about being discreet save for talking about his Jekyll side.)

But like I said, it's daylight and instead of Jesus bench this morning in the lingering heat from yesterday I bailed on Sam and went kayaking very early with John and Lochlan. I could not keep up, they could not paddle slow enough stay back and eventually I turned and returned, back to shore to haul my kayak up the beach where someone can fetch it before lunch and lock it away for tomorrow.

I gave an okay-wave as I made it to the top of the stairs, if it helps. Sometimes the boys get carried away with their competitiveness and forget that I am small and not as strong or as fast. This hasn't changed since I was eight years old, the only difference being now that I can recognize when they're not going to wait or come back or slow down and I will sit on the sidelines instead.

The dynamic of that sucks but at the same time it's not a big deal to come back up and steal all of PJ's bacon while John and Loch finish their cross-ocean triathlon or whatever it is they decided to embark on this morning.

PJ is horrified that I eat all of his bacon and calls me out. A piece. You could have left me a piece.

Maybe you should go to church and pray for more, I tell him and he laughs.

Totally going to tell Sam you said that.

You go right ahead. He gives me a tight hug with one arm and then takes his dishes to the kitchen while I head upstairs to have a shower. Ben is awake. This is a rare thing.

Morning Bumblebee. He mumbles it but he's smiling.

Morning Sleepyhead.

Come here.

If I do that I'll never leave.

How is that a bad thing? The sweetness of his voice draws me in and I crawl into bed for a hug. He waits for seven or eight heartbeats and then lets go. You smell like a dead jellyfish. Go have your shower.

Nice.

I mean, not really. Were you swimming already?

Paddling.

Ohhhh. That's what it is. Sweaty lifejacket.

Huh.

Sorry.

It's fine.

Is it though? You look pissed. He laughs.

Hey. I got a paddle and a plate of bacon and it's not even eight in the morning yet.

Jesus. I thought it was ten. Why am I up?

That was my question.

I sensed you coming in. That's what it was, Bridge.

It was the bacon smell.

I wish.

Maybe cuddle PJ instead. He was the one who made it.

I'll get on that as soon as I'm done sleeping.

Saturday, 18 July 2020

He's completely right but that doesn't change a thing.

My heart is a rocket ship, exploding in space only to fall to earth where the pieces are found scattered far and wide, brought back together to be reassembled and shot up over and over again in the cloying darkness, sparks heralding my departure from earth every single night. You can trace my path by the clouds, singed with black, burnt edges all along the way.

Jacob is a myth. He says it through the thick glass, wading through a fourth whiskey, up to his knees in flames by now, courage pulled up over his head like a blanket against the monsters that won't scare us but haunt us still. He is a little boy and my ghosts are his boogeymen, now.

Don't, Locket.

I have to.

No, you don't. We're reduced to half-conversations now. He just wants everything to stop but he's never going to be the one to bring an end to anything he hates, lest it backfire and I hate him for it.

I would never.

He does not believe me.

I could bring him up to space and show him there's nothing to be afraid of but he wouldn't believe me. Jacob may as well be breathing still for the risk he takes up in Lochlan's Big Book of Dangerous Things For Bridget to Stay Away From.

Let's go to sleep.

I can't sleep anymore. The minute I close my eyes everything always goes wrong.

Friday, 17 July 2020

From reckless to heavy and back again.


Why didn't you stop me from turning out this way?

I guess I'll have to do a list today, since it's Friday and it's raining and there's no pool time today (Caleb said so, Loch backed him up. I should have gone to August to split the difference but that just ends with all of my clothes on the floor and the happiest Newfie in British Columbia to everyone's absolute horror, so it's better if I don't do that so no pool time, okay, I got it) and I've got confirmation from Sam (who lies to be kind, they all do, I know this now in a bittersweet way I wasn't aware of when I was eight years old. Or ten. Or twelve. Or twenty-nine.) that I won't see Jake again until I cross the sea of glass and fire-

And now I'm obsessed with that. There are things Sam says, or any minister honestly, that sound so unlikely, so fucking magical they get stuck with me for weeks. Years. Months. He's said it a million times that the sea of glass is akin to the rainbow bridge for dogs but it's for humans and it's the barrier between earth and heaven, and that the only way to cross this sea is to die but of natural or unexpected reasons.

He always says unexpected, for clarification, because natural could mean fucking anything.

Right, so magical. Like that time he told me I was grace personified and I knew he wasn't lying to be kind then at all. He was simply calling what he saw, living what he knows, worshipping at the hand of this virtue that probably shouldn't exist and never will again-

This isn't a list, is it?

This is very fourth wall, back and forth but when Sam mentions the sea of glass now I can picture it and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, like Davenport beach glass but easier to get to.

(Remember my Coast Diaries companion blog to this one? Coast Dairies is a state park in California. Now you know.)

I've almost finished Practical Magic. Gary finally showed up two-hundred pages in. I've thrown out the remainders of my makeup drawer, keeping only my beloved Benetint and absolutely nothing else. It's been two years since I had a (major, I let Daniel keep it nice) haircut and I can pull it down at the ends now and tuck it into my armpits. I finally finished the Fifty Shades movie trilogy (read the books years ago, though I can't finish Grey because I read it in Caleb's voice and that makes it hard because Christian Grey is so much nicer than Caleb) and I am having my Friday morning second cup of coffee as we speak while I type, staying inside though I could be out on the heated covered patio with the others but Ransom came by again and I'd rather just stay in.

I'm plotting to finish this and then go crawl in with Dalton for a quick nap because Dalton sleeps all day when it rains and he won't be as...reactive as some of the others so I can actually sleep. 

But coffee. I could sit here all day in the dim light and drink coffee and read.

But Dalton. Not too warm, not too cool, a just-right bear to my Goldilocks and a comfort onto himself. He remembers the beach glass and lip gloss years, the drinking until we would forget everything bad that ever happened and all of the growing up we've done since because at some point you accept that you're going to grow old and get your great reward, and it's going to be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, a reason to wait in of itself. I only wish I could paint what I picture in my brain but there's always a shadow over the whole thing.

The shadow is Jake.

I know that now.

Thursday, 16 July 2020

Milestoned.

It's the lie-by-the-pool and don't lift a finger part of summer. The triple-digits-weather part of summer. The naked part of summer (but with a handy wrap dress nearby in case of children or beta boys). The eat a tequila popsicle and listen to the Eagles part of summer. The part where Lochlan stops burning ever so slightly and begins to toast a light golden, hair included. The part where my hair turns white and looks terrible.

The part where I don't even care.

The part where I finish all of those popsicles while mowing through all of the books in my nightstand while I float in this year's new addition but the wrong way, while Lochlan floats on the other side. It's a chicken fight float where the chickens are attached at the beaks but as it turns out I still can't reach Lochlan's hands unless he leans way forward, which gives me far too much of an advantage to be fair.

It's so fun to watch the boys on it, though I then see right through them because they're savage with each other and far too tender with me. Or maybe that's good. I don't know. I've had five of these popsicles and tequila and I (especially in the hot sun) were never so much as friends but merely acquaintances. I know her name. I don't know her.

It's the last popsicle I'm having (I swear) and in an hour I'll go take an ice-cold shower and put on a pretty dress and host Henry's birthday dinner. I feel like this is part of a dream, where I have successfully raised two human beings to be adults and they're smart, healthy, motivated and determined and I want to pat myself on the back so hard this lime slice I almost choked on will shoot into the water and everyone will shout in dismay but at least I can breathe again.

Wednesday, 15 July 2020

This whole world that shares my fate.

I fought you for so long
I should have let you win
Oh how we regret those things we do
And all I was trying to do
Was save my own skin
But so were you
          So were you


The heat drove us in late last night, as the camper gets close and cloying when the temperatures hover in the thirties. The breeze off the ocean does nothing, we're too high up and the windows aren't large enough in the camper. We briefly contemplated open-air sleeping (done it a million times) before the mosquitos made that decision for us. And the coming weeks ahead are forecast to be super-hot so I think sleeping out there will be on a case by case basis for the remainder of the month.

I love camping. I love living light. I love not having a schedule.

I woke up this morning with Ben making a wall on one side, arm over Caleb (HA! It's aDORable), who bookended us at some point because the door wasn't locked (I forgot) and he takes that as an invitation. Lochlan is almost sideways, arms around my waist, head thrown back in dreams, hair in his eyes. I crawl out the bottom to go have a shower and deal with the pets and no one even stirs.

The more living, breathing men I can pack into my immediate area the less often I see ghosts. Besides, Caleb has somehow figured out how to be nice again, or maybe he ran out of hard drugs, or possibly he is mellowing, something we've been waiting for since he was seventeen and was so intense people would self-immolate under his gaze.

And still do.

But God he looks so cute when he sleeps. They all do. No one's advocating, fixing, fighting. Makes me happy.


Tuesday, 14 July 2020

Animal camp/Animal internet.

We made a huge painted orca mural for the side of the boathouse for our project for this week, rendered on sealed wooden squares as tall as I am. Lochlan forgot how fast I am at painting and we finished before lunch today and so he's got to parse out the remaining activities to fill this new space, thinking we would work on it for a couple of hours a day. Instead we powered through the entire thing. Tomorrow we'll screw it to the beach-side back of the boathouse and then admire our handiwork forever. It's very West Coast to me. It actually turned out really cool.

(Don't tell anyone where I live if you see it from the water. It will be visible if you come up along the coast on the water from the east, but only slightly.)

Remaining projects for this week include birdwatching and naming all of the local sea lions in order to catalogue them for funsies, because we see them and forget their names and every visit now is a fumble for a theme to name them within, like planets or present and former members of US Congress or kinds of cookies.

So this time it's hot cities around the world like Phoenix and Marrakesh, Bangkok and Kuwait.

(Kuwait City, proper. Don't @ me.)

Tomorrow it will be something else. As I said, we can't remember.

In the meantime, I had five minutes to look at my email today and there was an old password of mine in a subject line with someone who attempted to tell me they had video of me watching porn on my computer, that I had good taste and that if I didn't send them $1030 in bitcoin (how specific) they would send the video to all of my contacts from Facebook and my phone.

Uh...

They've been waiting for hours. SEND THE VIDEO!

Also I don't have Facebook or bitcoin. And I don't need to watch porn on my laptop. I am the porn on my laptop but go HAM already, would you?